


If That's the Worst You've Got (In 4/4 Time)

by athenejen



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Blogging, Ensemble Cast, Hijinks, M/M, Remix, Remix Duello 2010, Schmoop, Touring, implied vampirism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 14:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenejen/pseuds/athenejen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four excerpts from Pete's blog and glimpses into the stories behind them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If That's the Worst You've Got (In 4/4 Time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaosmanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fngs fr th Mmrs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/81000) by [chaosmanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/pseuds/chaosmanor). 



> A remix of chaosmanor's wonderfully entertaining Patrick-becomes-a-vampire story, "Fngs fr th Mmrs," written for Remixduello 2010. Title is from the song "Thnks fr th Mmrs" by Fall Out Boy. Feedback and constructive criticism is welcome and cherished.

>   
> _sometimes i feel leftout like a robot or a cyborg or an alien or one of those holograms from sci-fi shows. but then i know im better off being both in and out. theres enough in my head already._   
> 

Things that Pete hates: being ignored. He pauses to think -- surely there's more than that? And there is, of course, oppression and unfairness and poverty and The Man. The usual. But today, right now, all he cares about is whether or not the rest of his band is paying attention to him.

So he steals Andy's glasses and pulls at Joe's curls, making them sproing back toward his head. He drapes himself all over Patrick until Andy pushes him off, muttering something about a death wish.

He watches as Patrick's eyes go soft, then sharp, as he buries his face in Andy's neck, and Joe announces he's going to the pool, loud and abrupt.

They'd passed the crappy motel pool on their way from the front desk to their room; it was small and dingy, half the surface covered with dead leaves.

But when Joe asks Pete if he's coming, Pete says yes. Cannonballs are always a good idea! And that trip to the emergency room to have his toe set in a splint after banging it against the bottom of the pool? So, so worth it.

 

>   
> _flesh and blood. its not enough._   
> 

Andy pulls a vegan raisin-oat bar out of his left pocket and untangles it from the plastic bag it was in. He shoves the bag back into his pocket to wash out later for reuse. It was only an hour ago that they'd gone to the diner next to their motel for breakfast, but fuck it, Andy's hungry again, and he's learned the hard way that if he's hungry, he'd better just eat something.

Patrick had freaked the fuck out that time Andy fainted an hour before the show, and not just because it was an hour before the show. Andy was only out for about half a minute, but when he came to, it was to Patrick standing over his body, _snarling_ at Pete and Joe, who had retreated to the corner of the room nearest the door.

They played a good show that night, but none of them want to go through that again. These days, Andy fills his pockets with snacks.

Pete keeps joking about how Andy eats like two birds now instead of one. The first couple of times, Andy tried to point out that birds in fact eat around half their body weight in food every day, but logic and facts have never stopped Pete before, and didn't in this case, either.

Andy doesn't mind, though. He's happy to eat and eat and eat, if it keeps Patrick fed, too. Maybe he should mind, but he doesn't.

Patrick takes a lot more from him than blood, but Andy doesn't mind that, either.

 

>   
> _crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch_   
> 

Joe has to wonder, how many coffee cups can one small (but vicious when provoked) vampire produce? There's a layer of paper and styrofoam remains littering the floor of the van -- every time they shove an amp back in, a few more get crushed into oblivion. In his head they pop like bubble wrap bubbles -- pop pop pop pop pop! -- but in reality they just make an anemic crunching sound. Totally anticlimactic.

The carnage doesn't even make for good practical joke material! Joe knows. He tried! The cardboardy paper bits were almost okay, but the styrofoam kept crumbling to bits as he tried to make everything stay where he put it. Basically, it sucked. And Joe is a master coffee cup sculpture builder, if he does say so himself. If anyone could make it work, it's him. And he can't. Therefore, they're useless, at least until Andy sweeps them all up every couple of months to dump in a recycling bin.

Joe might secretly like the noise they make when stepped on, though. Crunch!

 

>   
> _you cant help who you love but you can stop the hate. believe in yrself._   
> 

It is a continual frustration to Patrick that the average person seems to lack anything even _close_ to adequate levels of self-preservation instinct. Even disregarding those at the extremes (Pete on one end, whose first instinct is always to court disaster, and Bob on the other, whose job essentially consists of providing enough self-preservation instinct for an entire roster of rock bands), most people simply don't know when to get the fuck out of the way.

Sure, it's not like they _know_ he's a blood-sucking monster (at least he hopes not, fuck), but he's had it on good authority for _years_ that he's terrifying when angry. And he's angry a _lot_. (Pete had always insisted it was cute, but then everyone knows that Pete is not exactly in his right mind. It's part of his charm, but still.) (And yes, Patrick realizes that if he were a superhero instead of a vampire, he would basically be the Hulk. Except shorter and not green. Usually.)

Fact is, people give Patrick a lot of reasons to be angry.

In the early days of the band, the guys had to hold Patrick back from punching out the sound person at pretty much every single venue they played at. It wasn't even so much that they never had any idea of how to coax a reasonable mix out of their admittedly shitty sound systems, though they generally didn't. It was that they refused to follow Patrick's simple, clear, _essential_ directions for fixing the problems. Things Patrick could do in his _sleep_! Fucking fuckups.

Lately, though, most of his ire gets directed at people interacting with Andy. Not Pete and Joe, and not the Fuck City crowd, they all value Andy as he should be valued and acknowledge Patrick's claim without comment. But other people, other people just don't get it sometimes.

Andy isn't "just" the drummer. He's not "just" anything.

Andy's quiet, not dumb (or out of it, or stuck up, or anything bad at all).

Andy likes people fine, as long as they're his kind of people.

Andy's a geek, yes, but in Patrick's book, that's a _compliment_.

Even worse, though, is when people just won't leave Andy alone. Patrick had already run off two scene queens, a hippie chick, and a skinny kid in eyeliner and a My Chem shirt earlier that night; all it took in each case was a steely glare (and in the last case, scribbling his signature in red sharpie on the kid's arm).

This guy, though. When Patrick elbows his way to Andy's side to narrow his eyes fiercely, the guy just smirks and looms even closer to Andy, face tipped down so his nose is almost touching Andy's hair. Andy looks bored, but not otherwise bothered.

Patrick hates it when people are taller than him. You'd think he'd've gotten over it, considering he can kick pretty much any human's ass without breaking a sweat, but there's something primal about it that he just can't help. The taller they are, the more irritated he starts out.

Some people manage to diffuse his annoyance with a smile or a word. Not this guy. Patrick contemplates punching that smirk right off his face, but the guy just smiles wider like he knows what Patrick's thinking and finds it amusing.

"Back off," Patrick snaps.

The stranger laughs, then, and leans even closer to Andy. "No," he says. Andy rolls his eyes and attempts to eel away from the guy.

When the asshole clamps a hand down on Andy's shoulder to stop him, Patrick sees red, and growls, "You're going to regret that."

Andy meets Patrick's eyes, and before Patrick can so much as step towards him, elbows the guy in the gut and stomps down on his foot, hard. The guy goes down, hand sliding off Andy's shoulder as he doubles over onto the ground. Andy hops over to Patrick's side and wraps his arms around him, tucking his face into Patrick's neck.

"Calm down," he whispers, and presses a kiss under Patrick's left ear.

Patrick forces his fists to unclench, lets his hands find Andy's waist and tangle into the hem of his hoodie.

"Okay," he breathes. He feels Andy smile against his neck.

"Okay," Andy murmurs back.

Patrick closes his eyes and just holds on.


End file.
